A Dress the Color of the Clouds
by Michelle Smith
Summary: UPDATED -- now with bloopers! Can this mysterious girl drive a wedge between the Majere twins?
1. The Story

A Dress the Color of the Clouds  
  
Caramon glared through the window, outside of which he saw his brother sitting comfortably on the porch, studying. Caramon's handsome face twisted with rage and pain. " 'I have to do this for my magic,' " he whimpered in a high, falsetto voice. " 'It's not my fault everyone feels sorry for me!' " Caramon jumped to his feet, staring out the little window, glaring at his brother.  
  
"He just sits around and scribbles in his books all day long, ordering me around." He reassumed the high, mocking voice. "It's always, 'Caramon, fetch me this,' or 'Caramon, go do that.' " Caramon ground his teeth in frustration.  
  
"And is he grateful for everything I do for him? Does he say, 'Thank you Caramon, for helping your weaker, stupider little brother?' " He shook his head wildly, his auburn hair falling down in his face. "No! Of course not! Instead of 'thank you,' it's always, 'Caramon, you are a dolt!'  
  
"What is a dolt, anyway?!" He threw himself down on his bed, arms crossed, his hair still in his face. "All because of your stupid, precious magic!"  
  
Caramon sighed and turned over on his side. "Stupid Raist," he muttered to himself. He mulled the thought over: stupid Raist. After a few more minutes of contemplation, Caramon decided those two words completely summed up his feelings. Well, almost all of his feelings, he corrected as his stomach rumbled hungrily, breaking into this thoughts.  
  
Climbing out of his bed, Caramon walked out of the room he shared with his brother. He went into the little kitchen and began exploring the Majeres' meager pantry. Finding a stale hunk of bread with only a little green stuff growing on it, Caramon sighed and made a decision. "I'm not going to even think about Raist!" he resolved under his breath.  
  
As Caramon was just shoving the bread into his mouth, there was a knock at the door. He got up, his mouth still full of bread, and pulled open the front door.  
  
"Hi," said the girl.  
  
Caramon almost choked on his bread. Standing in the doorway was the most beautiful - or at least second or third most beautiful, he amended thoughtfully - girl he'd ever seen, with long, honey-blonde hair cascading down to her waist, fair skin the color of cream, and large, deep blue eyes. She was dressed in a gauzy blue dress that floated around her in the wind, the color of the sky or the waters of Crystalmir lake.  
  
"Mrmmphhii!" Caramon said through a mouthful of bread.  
  
The girl swallowed a smirk, and in a melodic voice, asked, "What?"  
  
Caramon swallowed gigantically and, wiping a few crumbs from his chin, grinned. "I said, 'You must be the most beautiful lady I've ever seen!'"  
  
She smiled at the silly flattery, her cheeks flushing a very pretty pink. Caramon took the opportunity to slip his hand into hers.  
  
"Would you like to come with me for a walk by the lake, m'lady?" he asked, giving the girl - who he guessed to be his own age or just a bit younger - a charming smile.  
  
"That depends," she replied, taking the opportunity to slip her hand out of Caramon's, "on whether you're the person I've come to see."  
  
Smiling broadly, Caramon made a well-timed, if somewhat clumsy, bow. "I am Caramon Majere, son of the Lord Gilon and the Lady Rosamun." Caramon wasn't sure if Lord and Lady were quite appropriate for his parents, but he decided it couldn't hurt. To his gratification, the girl smiled sweetly.  
  
"Ah!" she said, her smile never wavering, "In that case, I'm afraid we'll have to postpone that walk until later."  
  
Caramon just stared at her dumbly. "Wha... How come?" he asked, reaching for her hand.  
  
The girl very calmly deflected his attempts to draw her nearer. "Because, Caramon Majere, son of Lord Gilon and Lady Rosamun, I am here to see your brother." Caramon gave her a stricken look, one so terribly heart- wrenching that the girl glided over to him and, standing on her tip-toes, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm sorry, Caramon..." she said quietly, something in her tone almost sad. She took a step back, her tone all business again. "Now. Where is your twin?"  
  
Caramon stared at her as though he'd been struck by lightning. He blinked once, and then suddenly, without really meaning to, he found himself turning around to lead her to his brother.  
  
* * *  
  
And though Caramon's brother did, indeed, appear calm, collected, and - for the moment - content when his twin peered at him through the window, the emotions roiling inside the fourteen-year-old's heart were at least as overwhelming as those of his twin.  
  
" 'Look at me,' " Raistlin mimicked softly. " 'I'm the magnificent Caramon! Come stare at my bulging biceps! Come be amazed at my dashing good looks! Come be deafened by the sound of the wind whistling through my empty head!' " Raistlin hurriedly looked up and around him, wondering if anyone had heard him talking to himself. Seeing no one, he sighed. "Of course no one's there," he muttered to himself. "They all gather around him, not me." The frail boy's knuckles whitened as he clutched the corners of the large, musty book. Not a spellbook - not yet. It was a dusty volume detailing the history of the Towers of High Sorcery.  
  
"It isn't fair!" Raistlin growled, leaning his back against the railing of the little back porch. He glared at the window, into his brother's room. "So what if he's handsome? That shouldn't matter! Not when he has the intelligence of a doorknocker!!" He pulled his knees up to his chest, resting the book on them, clenching his fists. He forced his breathing to slow and tried to look at things rationally.  
  
"I shouldn't care that Caramon has so many friends, or that he's always so charming to girls. I shouldn't care that... that... he's always around people who care for him... who love him..." He sighed, leaning his head back on the rail, staring up at the sky through the leaves of the Vallenwood. "I shouldn't care, but I do."  
  
Raistlin felt the hair prickle on the back of his neck. Then, immediately after, he heard the door creak open behind him. Startled, he jumped to his feet, clutching the book against his chest.  
  
"Hi there," she said.  
  
Raistlin just stared. Standing before him was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Her golden-blonde hair swirled around her shoulders in the tree-top breeze, glistening with the streams of sunlight shining through the leaves. She wore a short-cut - but not so much as to be immodest - dress the color of the summer sky, shimmering as it wafted around her in the breeze. The girl held the dress tight against her skin with one hand - a necessity when walking on the tree-bridges high off the ground - showing off her shapely figure and just enough of her smooth, white legs to invite the onlooker to guess at what lay hidden beyond the skirts. She watched Raistlin carefully for a moment, and then she smiled. Her eyes - the same color as her dress - twinkled and shone as she laughed softly, musically.  
  
Raistlin simply stared, his keen blue eyes soft and warm, taken completely off-guard. She was so beautiful... Almost too beautiful to be real, he thought. Then, suddenly, he blinked once. What am I doing? he asked himself harshly. Staring at her, just like my dolt of a brother would, that's what!  
  
He took a step backwards, bowing slightly with a small flourish of one hand, giving the girl room to step out of the doorway and onto the porch. When he straightened, his eyes were cold and hard as ice.  
  
"I suppose you're here for Caramon," he said, his lips twisting slightly in a sneer at his brother's name. "He's should be inside. I'm sure you can find your way-"  
  
"No," the girl said, gliding out of the house and onto the porch, smiling again. "I'm looking for someone named Raistlin." She tilted her head to the side, letting her dress go to swirl around her knees. "Raistlin Majere," she repeated, staring into his eyes.  
  
Raistlin blinked again. He started to say something, faltered, then swallowed. She's just a girl! he berated himself harshly.  
  
"I am Raistlin," he said softly, staring back at the girl. "Though what someone like you-" he said, looking her up and down harshly and forcing a sneering turn at the corner of his mouth, "-would want with me, I don't know."  
  
To his surprise, the girl didn't flinch or turn away. Instead, she just stood silently for a moment, watching him. Then, suddenly, she giggled, the sound like that of a little brook or tiny bells.  
  
"I see Theobald was telling the truth about you," she laughed, absently twining a lock of golden hair around one delicate white finger as she regarded him.  
  
"You... you know Master Theobald?" Raistlin stuttered, staring at the girl like she had just declared she was an apparition from the Abyss. He slowly backed away from her until he ran into the rail of the porch. As this strange girl took a few steps nearer him, Raistlin vaguely considered jumping over the rail.  
  
"Of course I know Master Theobald," she said. "After all, I am a sorceress."  
  
Raistlin just stared at her for a moment. He took in her delicate figure, her smooth hands, her fine blue dress, the way she girlishly twirled her hair around her fingers... Then, very, very slowly, the corners of his mouth started twitching and, before he could help it, he started laughing. While the girl's laugh was sweet, melodic, Raistlin's laughter was harsh and mocking.  
  
"You..." he gasped, staring at her, laughing until tears formed at the corners of his eyes. "You... a magic-user...!" He was forced to grab at the rail to keep from tumbling over it in his merriment.  
  
The girl's deep blue eyes flashed. She planted her feet and lifted her chin in a manner that, had Raistlin known a bit more about women, would have killed his laughter that very instant. Unfortunately for him, he was completely oblivious to this particular law of nature and he, therefore, continued to laugh, his whole thin body shaking, his shoulder-length auburn hair floating around him wildly in the breeze.  
  
"I am a magic-user!" she shouted at him, fists clenched. Raistlin didn't even bother to look at her. "I am!!" she insisted.  
  
He took a deep breath and, very carefully forcing a straight face, lifted his slim shoulders in a graceful shrug. He straightened, the book still tucked carefully under one arm, and then made an ironic half-bow. "Of course, sorceress," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Forgive my mistake. I was under the impression that one must be... ah... magically inclined to claim the title of a magic-user." He kept a sardonic grin from twisting his lips.  
  
She tossed her head, hair streaming out around her in a golden glow. "A man, you mean?" she said softly. Raistlin, smiling innocently, simply shrugged again. She smiled in return, suddenly all feminine docility. "What you're saying is... I have to be a big, strong, intelligent man to practice magic, right?" Raistlin shook his head vaguely, watching her, more a denial of her herself than of her words. She slid over to lean against the rail next to him. A faint scent of lavender and rose petals wafted from her to Raistlin.  
  
"What you think," she said softly, smiling with a strange light in he eyes, "is that someone as weak, and delicate, and feminine as me should be in the kitchen, instead of in the Tower at Wayreth, right?" Raistlin mutely shrugged yet again. "Well, you know what?" she said, slipping an arm around his shoulders, "I'm going to prove you wrong!" Her blue eyes, suddenly mesmerizing, stared into his. Her hands slid around Raistlin's.  
  
Raistlin found himself drowning in the deep, azure pools, intoxicated by her nearness. The scent of lavender hung thick in the air, lulling him, holding him... So much so, in fact, that he didn't hear her chanting until the spell was almost finished. He jerked back to reality when he felt the air tingle with anticipation of the magic about to be cast. He tried to pull away, but he found her hand fastened tightly in a death-grip on his shoulder, her other hand grasping both of his in an unshakable hold. I don't even know what spell she's casting! he thought to himself in a panic. How can I disrupt the magic? He stared at her for just an instant before a solution came. It was a stupid, bad, very bad solution... but time was running out and he couldn't think of anything else.  
  
In desperation, he took a deep breath, squeezed shut his eyes, and kissed her.  
  
For one moment in time, the magic vibrated in the air and everything froze. The entire world went silent except for the blood pounding in his ears, or at least so it seemed to Raistlin. There was nothing else in the universe except him and the girl, with one of her arms around him still, her other hand holding his...  
  
And then the spell shattered.  
  
Raistlin felt the magic explode almost as keenly as the girl herself did. She gasped, he pulled away, and by the time either of the two had their breath back, they were at opposite ends of the porch. Raistlin leaned against the wall of the house, panting, eyes open wide, staring at her. She glared at him, holding herself up with the rail and her sheer will.  
  
"What... was that?" Raistlin finally asked when the tingling sensation faded from the tips of his fingers. For once, he didn't even think of putting his harsh façade back up.  
  
The girl glared at him for a moment longer. Then, losing the imperial tilt to her chin, she gave him a wan, strained smile. "I was just going to transport you to the bottom of the tree, to prove-"  
  
Raistlin cut her off. "A transport?" he asked, amazed. "Your Master is already teaching you transportation spells?"  
  
"Mistress," she corrected, "not Master." She broke into a broad smile. "So you believe me about being a sorceress, now?"  
  
He arched an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"  
  
The girl opened her mouth to reply when, without warning, the spell's backlash caught up with her. Her eyes rolled back in her head, her eyelids fluttered, and she slumped to the wooden floor of the porch, unconscious.  
  
* * *  
  
"It's not fair!" Caramon shouted, pacing across his tiny room. "Not only does he have his stupid magic, but now he's got girls, too!" Caramon sat down on his bed with a THUMP, shaking the whole house. He pounded his fists on his knees so hard the muscles knotted. "Raist isn't supposed to like girls!"  
  
"Would you rather I like boys, Caramon...?"  
  
Caramon's head jerked up. Raistlin folded his hands in the sleeves of his homespun shirt - one of Gilon's cast-offs, one much too large for the frail boy - and smiled wryly.  
  
"Uh... Gee, Raist... I didn't mean-" Caramon protested, his head down, teeth clenched.  
  
Raistlin cut his twin off with an impatient wave of one hand. "Never mind, my brother. Right now..." Raistlin swallowed the sour taste that rose in his throat as he said the words, "Right now, I need your help."  
  
* * *  
  
The brothers, together, carried the unconscious girl inside and laid her on Raistlin's bed - it being the neater of the two. Raistlin sent his brother to fetch water and a rag, and he bathed the girl's forehead. Caramon sat on the floor beside the bed, fidgeting, looking very uncomfortable in the silence. Finally, after another long moment, he said, "So... what happened to her?"  
  
"She attempted to cast a spell too far beyond her abilities," Raistlin said, inwardly allowing a small measure of grudging respect for Theobald. Though he may have been a slow and plodding idiot, he knew enough to keep his students from destroying themselves. "I believe she will recover, but for the moment, I must watch her carefully... The repercussions of the miscast spell have given her some kind of fever." Almost as if to demonstrate, the girl moaned and turned, feverishly. Caramon peered over the edge of the bed in alarm. Her eyes were open, the pupils tiny dots of black amidst seas of dark blue. Small beads of sweat ran down her forehead, and her chest rose and fell in ragged, awkward gasps.  
  
"She should, however, be recovered enough to explain what she is doing here by sometime in the morning," Raistlin continued, amusedly noting the disconcerted expression on his brother's face.  
  
"Oh," Caramon said quietly. He frowned a little. "She's-"  
  
"Yes, Caramon. She is, indeed, a wizardess," Raistlin responded, answering his brother's question before it was spoken with that eerie kind of telepathy that develops between all twins. Raistlin moved slightly further down the bed, relocating his perch in order to give the girl a little more room.  
  
Caramon nodded and fell silent, still frowning. Raistlin watched his twin out of the corners of his eyes, curious at his brother's strangely thoughtful mood. Finally, Caramon turned his troubled gaze upwards, to his brother.  
  
"Hey, Raist...?" he asked, a shadow falling across his normally cheerful, handsome face. Raistlin regarded his twin intently.  
  
"Yes, my brother?"  
  
"Could the same thing happen to you?" Caramon asked quietly.  
  
The room was silent for a moment. It could, some part of Raistlin's mind whispered. It could, if I were to make even the smallest of mistakes, misjudge my own strength... This could happen, this and far, far worse... Raistlin's eyes hardened ever so slightly as he looked down at his brother.  
  
"It won't, Caramon," he murmured. "It won't." Raistlin shivered, not at all sure he believed his own words.  
  
* * *  
  
Solinari hung suspended on the horizon, Lunitari just now passing the middle of the sky. The light from the two moons shone eerily through the rustling leaves of the Vallenwoods, making red and silver shadows dance across the room in which the twins sat. Somewhere outside, an owl's haunting call softly filled the silence. The last candle had guttered out with the end of the brothers' last conversation. Neither had spoken since. In the half-shadows, the twins looked strangely alike, both frowning gently at the girl, both sitting still and gray as statues.  
  
The wind whistled through the trees, just a whisper -- just enough to make the hair stand up on the back of Caramon's neck. It was late - so late it was really early - yet, for some reason, as he sat on his bed watching the slow, even breathing of the girl, watching the play of the strange light slide back and forth across her face, watched her feathery blue dress as it seemed to glow in the moonlight, Caramon's thoughts couldn't have been further from sleep.  
  
Raistlin shifted slightly, the well-worn blankets hardly rustling under his small weight, his breathing as slow and light as that of the girl he watched. He sat patiently, his frail body perched at the foot of the bed he shared with the girl, his knees curled up to his chest. While his brother's thoughts waltzed slowly along with the moon-cast shadows, turning and shifting with their dance, Raistlin's mind ran quickly in a straight, cold line.  
  
He frowned, his gaze transfixed on the girl's face. Where had she come from? he wondered. For that matter, what was her name? She had obviously come in search of him for some reason pertaining to his magic; that much she herself had made clear. She had found him by talking to Theobald, after all. But why did she come? Raistlin's mind wondered restlessly.  
  
"I wonder what she wants with you," Caramon said suddenly, his voice loud and brash, shattering the silence while unconsciously echoing his brother's ponderings. Caramon looked at Raistlin guiltily, obviously surprised that he had spoken aloud. Sheepishly, he quickly added, "Not that she, uh, shouldn't have come looking for you, Raist, but it's just that people don't look for you very often." Caramon blinked, realizing that he hadn't made things much better. "I mean, not that they don't want you, Raist, but it's just that, when people need help, they usually go to someone more like-"  
  
"More like you, my brother?" Raistlin finished dryly. In the moonlit room, his brother nodded.  
  
"Yeah, like me," Caramon agreed, flexing his muscles while flashing the sleeping girl one of his most charming smiles. He didn't noticed the hard gleam as the red moonlight shone in his smaller twin's eyes. "I mean, after all, Raist, I am the big adventurer out of us two." Caramon looked over at the girl, admiration shining clearly in his eyes. "With my strong arm and my keen blade, I'll bet I can solve whatever problems she needs help with," he said, slicing at the air with an imaginary sword.  
  
"Like what, Caramon?" Raistlin asked shortly, disgusted with his brother's ridiculous boasting.  
  
"Well," Caramon said, his eyes lighting up, "Maybe her family has been taken captive by a hoard of blood-thirsty goblins and she came to us--" Caramon seemed to forget that she had come for Raistlin, not both of the Majere boys, "--to get us to rescue them!"  
  
"You are absolutely correct, Caramon!" Raistlin said softly, his tone bitter and sarcastic. "You're the perfect hero to save the 'damsel in distress.' After all," he continued, his eyes flickering, "What army of goblins could ever hope to stand against the might of a teenaged boy boldly brandishing his wooden sword?"  
  
Caramon shrugged good-naturedly, the jibe sliding off like water. "Well, Kit did promise me a real sword. She would have brought one for you too, Raist, but you said you didn't want one."  
  
"What would I want with a sword?" Raistlin said in disgust, turning to stare out the window, his back to his brother. Caramon just shrugged in the dark.  
  
A few long minutes passed, the boys listening to the girl breathe. She coughed lightly, in her sleep, reminding the boys of the reason for their midnight vigil. Raistlin slid around on the bed, his eyes running over her slumbering form carefully. She was apparently fine, immersed in life- restoring sleep.  
  
Raistlin's eyes flickered to his brother, now crouched on the floor, watching the girl with a guileless grin on his handsome face. Raistlin turned away, staring out the window again, unseeing. He clenched his fists in the dark, blood rising in his face. Why should I care? he demanded of himself ruthlessly. Why should I care if Caramon likes this girl? She's nothing more than a stranger, one who came to ask us a favor...to ask me a favor, he amended, more than a little annoyed with his own subconscious substitution.  
  
At the other end of the bed, he heard a quiet rustle and saw his brother leaning over the sleeping girl, reaching easily from his position on the floor. Caramon raised one of his large hands and tenderly, gently, smoothed the girl's hair back and away from her face, softly caressing the golden tresses. He smiled gently, his brown eyes filled with warmth, shining in the light of the silver moon.  
  
Raistlin's fists tightened, his fingers digging into the palms of his hands. She is nothing to me! he thought harshly, small trickles of blood welling under his nails, the hot red drops sliding down his wrist. She is nothing, he thought again. Nothing! But as he turned again to stare through the leaves of the Vallenwood, out at the stars, he unconsciously lifted one hand and brushed his fingers gently across his lips, and from somewhere, he thought he could smell the faintest hint of lavender.  
  
* * *  
  
Strange, dark shapes chased Raistlin through the darkness. Vague, stinging branches and leaves slapped at his legs as he ran, limbs catching at his face and arms. He fled wildly, the darkness now becoming a strange, sinister forest. Somewhere off to the side, he thought he saw the dim glow of something evil, one of the specters from Theobald's tales of black-robed sorcerers. It's chilling aura seemed to reach across the distance, through the trees, toward him. Other shapes, black and white, spun and whirled through the trees around him, dancing in the corners of his vision, vanishing when he turned his head to look. Howls and high-pitched, hungry screeches echoed through the blackness.  
  
Raistlin ran faster, his head down, his chest burning with a horrible, tearing fire. This was a strange kind of pain, filled with pounding, sticky blood and a thick, acid feeling in his throat. His lungs felt heavy, seemed filled with hot, choking liquid. His lungs convulsed suddenly, clenching within his breast, and Raistlin stumbled, staggering forward through the blackness. Twisted tree branches caught at him as he fought to regain his balance, clawing at his skin and ripping the white mage's robes he wore. Stars danced before his eyes in contrast to the blackness, his closed lungs straining to reopen and take in the air he so desperately craved. He ran on, feeling a cold wave of gut-wrenching fear as the nameless terror pursuing him drew nearer. He stumbled again, and his throat finally cleared. He gasped, filling his lungs painfully full of air, his chest expanding, the salty taste of acid and blood rising in his throat.  
  
His eyes stung with the sweat running into them, and he rubbed at them, still coughing, his entire body shaking. As he moved his pale hand away from his eyes, his throat constricted again and he almost stopped running. This time, instead of choking from the liquid in his lungs, Raistlin was choking in fear! He could see the forest clearly now, the trees sliding past as he ran.  
  
The trees! When he saw them from the corners of his eyes, they were green, covered in the leaves of summer, but as he turned to look at them, they slowly withered and blackened, shriveling. Their leaves fell, only to wrinkle and fold and vanish into so much dust before they even hit the ground. Everywhere he looked, the same thing - death, darkness. He felt, suddenly, a hot, searing pain in his arms, his back, as the trees - wilting even as he watched - reached down to claw at his arms, his legs, at his chest, knocking him down.  
  
Raistlin fell hard onto the wet, moist ground, the breath knocked out of his lungs by the fall. A stifling sweet stench of decay rose around him, perhaps from the forest floor, perhaps from the horrible, black-robed figure just behind him.  
  
The figure! From behind, he heard footsteps approaching, slowing, then halting. Silence washed through the dying woods, more horrible than the howls and screams of a moment before. His breath ragged, rattling in his throat, he dared not look up at the apparition standing over him, staring down instead at the burning cuts on his chest and arms. As he watched in horror, blood ran from his wounds, soaking into his robes, turning them - every shred of the fabric - a bright, horrible crimson, darkening still to deep scarlet.  
  
Then, as a mindless, fiery pain washed over Raistlin's body, his robes darkened further, turning as black as the forest around him, pulling him into the darkness, pulling him down, into the wet, rotting ground. From above, a horrible, rasping, chilling voice hissed at him, softly, from within it's black hood, soft, terrible words Raistlin couldn't make out over the pounding of the blood in his ears. The voice grated out a few more indistinguishable syllables, and then it began to laugh, a rattling, shrieking laugh; a triumphant laugh, and very, very evil.  
  
Somewhere, one of the horrible creatures flying through the trees of the dying forest stopped somewhere ahead of the fallen mage. "Raistlin..." it called, the sound drowning out the horrible, mocking laughter. "Raistlin... Raistlin..."  
  
"Raistlin, wake up!!"  
  
He woke with a start, sitting straight up in his brother's bed, his hands clutching his too-long shirt sleeves in a grip of death, cold sweat drenching his hair, trickling down his face and chest. He shook uncontrollably, breathing hard, tears flooding his eyes, running down his cheeks. Strong arms encircled him, cradling him gently.  
  
"It's all right, Raist," a soothing voice murmured. Raistlin squeezed shut his eyes and finally his breathing slowed. The dream faded, its terrible reality drifting away, the laugh the last to disappear. "It was just a dream," the voice whispered. "Just a dream..."  
  
Raistlin simply sat for a moment, comforted, warm and safe in the arms of his brother. His 'big' brother's arms. Safe, protecting... and suddenly, as full awareness hit Raistlin, his Caramon's grasp became stifling. Viciously, lashing out at him, Raistlin shoved his twin away, drawing back to the wall and away from his brother.  
  
"Of course it was just a dream, Caramon," he said harshly, coldly, trying very hard to keep his voice from quavering. "I would hope I know the difference between a dream and reality. What do you take me for, a child?" Caramon stared at him for a second, hurt showing in his eyes, rocking back on the edge of the bed, startled.  
  
"No, Raist... I just thought..." his voice died away, cracking.  
  
"You thought you would comfort me, like you did when we were children?" Raistlin whispered, the sound cutting, bitter. "I, for one, would not be a child again. My childhood was not a time I would repeat. Not ever." He paused for a moment, his eyes narrow, glittering slits. "Would you, Caramon?" he demanded softly. "If you could, would you go back and do it all again?" Caramon muttered something, shaking his head, his shoulders hunched as he stood and shuffled over to sit disconsolately on his own bed.  
  
"Only trying to help," the uncomfortable boy said under his breath.  
  
Raistlin sighed, his pulse finally slowing back to normal. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes. In his mind's eye, he saw again his torn and bleeding body, clothed in robes black and soft as velvet against his skin; he heard the cold, triumphant laugh... Raistlin swallowed hard, a shudder wracking his body. A dream, nothing more. But, for some reason, that horrible laugh stayed with him, refusing to be banished from his mind.  
  
Caramon scuffing his feet on the floor, sighing and wiggling on the bed, fidgeting with his hands. Raistlin sat perfectly still, his eyes closed. After several uncomfortable minutes of quiet passed, Caramon was beginning to think longingly of breakfast. Raistlin finally broke the silence.  
  
"Did she wake during the night?" he asked abruptly, fixing his cool blue eyes - hard, but no longer dark with nightmares - on his twin. Caramon stared blankly for a moment, then realized who his brother was referring to.  
  
"Oh, her?" he said, turning his own eyes away from his brother's and onto the girl. "No, Raist. She slept really quiet all night, sometimes coughing a little or groaning in her sleep. Around dawn, she stopped moaning and talking to herself, and she's just been lying there since." Caramon sighed and rubbed his hand across his eyes tiredly.  
  
Raistlin nodded. He frowned very slightly, just a twist at the corners of his thin lips, as he looked at Caramon. "And you stayed up with her all night, my brother, when I did not?" Caramon shrugged, dropping his eyes to stare at his bare, dusty feet. "Why, Caramon?" Raistlin prodded. His tone was gentle, but had Caramon been looking, he might have seen the icy flame behind his twin's cold blue eyes, a fire that belied the calm voice. "Why did you stay with her, when you knew well that she did not need you, that she would not wake until morning? Why, when I myself fell asleep, did you stay awake...?"  
  
In answer, Caramon turned to look at the girl again, his eyes warming, smiling wearily. He waited for a moment before he answered, finding the right words.  
  
Finally, so gently it was hardly more than a breath, he said, "She's beautiful, isn't she, Raist?"  
  
Raistlin's jaw clenched, ever so slightly, and he turned his flat stare on the girl. For a moment, Caramon thought his brother wasn't going to answer him. Then, in a voice so soft Caramon wasn't sure he heard it at all, Raistlin whispered, "She is, Caramon. She is... very... beautiful."  
  
* * *  
  
For the space of a few breaths, the brothers sat in the mid-morning sunlight that filtered through the dirty window, just watching the girl breathe, listening to the morning noises of the town outside. Then, Caramon's rumbling stomach loudly broke the quiet peace. Blushing slightly, he stood up.  
  
"I'll go fix us some breakfast, Raist," he said, trooping into the kitchen. Moments later, loud bangings, crackings, smashings, and rattlings emanated from the little kitchen of the Majere's tree-top house. Raistlin cringed. Caramon, spending a good amount of his time and energy eating and soon growing tired of stale bread and cold cheese, had finally determined to teach himself how to cook. Sighing, Raistlin decided, for lack of anything better to do while they waited for the girl to wake, to give his brother a cooking lesson.  
  
"What are we going to make, Raist?" Caramon asked cheerfully. The care- free, easy-going boy had already dismissed - if he had not forgotten - his brother's harsh actions following his nightmare. He jerked his mother's old apron over his head, grinning. Raistlin simply arched an eyebrow at the frilly pink apron that barely came down to his brother's thighs and sighed.  
  
"Let's start with something simple," he said. "Like a nice, easy stew."  
  
"Stew?" Caramon asked, a bit surprised. "For breakfast?"  
  
Raistlin merely shrugged. "It seems to me that it would be almost impossible for anyone to ruin stew - even you." He added, wryly, "Does that meet your culinary expectations, my brother?  
  
Caramon nodded vigorously, his grin even wider. "I like stew!"  
  
"Good," Raistlin commented shortly, leading his brother over to the counter by his elbow. "I've already set aside the vegetables," he said, gesturing to the assorted meager carrots, onions, and potatoes resting on the counter.  
  
His brother nodded, the apron bobbing ridiculously.  
  
Raistlin sighed again. "Take the knife." He pointed to the small kitchen knife he'd borrowed from Otik, the proprietor of the local inn - the Majere's kitchen being poorly equipped. Of course, Raistlin had a knife he himself used for cooking and other miscellaneous tasks - mostly chopping and slicing the herbs from his garden - but the knife he gave to his brother was a special knife. Earlier, anticipating his brother's fast- approaching adventures in cooking, he'd run the knife back and forth over several hard, dry blocks of wood; now the knife was a specially dull one. It would be harder to use, yes - but it would also be harder for Caramon to hurt himself with.  
  
"Pick it up like this." Raistlin pantomimed in the air with his right hand.  
  
Caramon imitated his brother, gently taking the knife in his own right hand. "Like this?" he asked.  
  
Raistlin nodded. "Very good, Caramon. Now, hold down the vegetables with your left hand, your fingers curled under-no, not like that, like this... there." Raistlin curled Caramon's thick fingers delicately down towards one end of the lucky onion. "Put the tip of the knife on the counter and bring the other end down, resting the flat of the knife against your knuckles while you do it." The was a moment of quiet chopping sounds and then, suddenly, Caramon's shout pierced the air.  
  
"OWWWW!" he yelled, clutching his left hand with his right.  
  
"What?" Raistlin demanded, his small store of patience exhausted. "It's very simple, Caramon!" he admonished his pouting brother, who still held his injured hand tightly in the other.  
  
"It's harder than it looks, Raist!" he protested, his lower lip jutting out. Raistlin rolled his eyes.  
  
"You just take the knife in your good hand, hold the vegetable with the other, and slice down." He took the knife and deftly made several paper- thin slices of onion with hardly a glance in the vegetable's direction. He handed the knife back to his brother. "Now, try it again!"  
  
"But, Raist," Caramon protested loudly, "I'm hurt!"  
  
"Let me see that, Caramon," Raistlin ordered. Caramon obediently stuck out his injured left hand. "It's a tiny scratch on your finger, Caramon!" He touched the little cut lightly with one of his own delicate fingers. Caramon cringed.  
  
"It hurts..." he moaned.  
  
"For the love of the gods, Caramon, it isn't even bleeding!" Raistlin said, not exactly shouting, but in a much louder tone of voice than his usual half-whisper. Caramon hunched his shoulders, an apology already on his lips. Raistlin sighed, lowering his voice. "Never mind. Here, try it again." He pointed to the knife. "Just take the knife in your good hand and cut up the onion, holding it still with your other hand." He mimed the cutting action in the air with his right hand again to demonstrate.  
  
Caramon nodded and, mimicking his brother, took the knife in his right hand, held the onion with his left, and clumsily sliced off a few more uneven sections of the vegetable. Raistlin sighed as tears began to form in his eyes from the onion fumes. He should've started his brother out on something simpler - like a potato. As the knife started to move a little faster, Caramon grinned, sniffling as the fumes began to affect him, too.  
  
"How's this, Raist?" he asked, looking at his brother curiously.  
  
"Caramon," Raistlin began quickly, "watch what you're-"  
  
"Ow!!" Caramon dropped the knife and stuck the fingers of his left hand into his mouth. Tears welled in his eyes - whether from pain or from the onion juice from his fingers, Raistlin was not sure.  
  
A laugh interrupted Caramon's tears and Raistlin's potentially scathing response. Both boys jumped and spun around towards the doorway, the knife in Caramon's hand slicing through the air dangerously. She stood in the doorway, smiling as she looked from one brother to another. Raistlin hastily blinked the tears from his eyes and nodded his head in greeting.  
  
"Good morning, m'lady," Raistlin said.  
  
"Mmmrrrph, ffmrrr," Caramon added. He blinked and quickly pulled his hand out of his mouth, to another musical laugh from the girl. Caramon grinned and winked at the girl. She smiled again in response. Raistlin sighed and cleared his throat.  
  
"You seem to have recovered well. I have questions for you, but they can wait until breakfast is ready. We'll be having stew to eat, if you feel up to it," Raistlin said with only a small ironic twist to his voice. "I know it's a bit odd, but Caramon is trying-"  
  
"I know," she said, nodding. "I overheard your lessons." She crossed the room, walking around to stand behind Caramon. She began tugging at something on the back of his apron. Raistlin opened his mouth, trying to see what she was doing around his brother's already-considerable chest. A moment later, she gave a tug that made the whole apron flutter and reappeared, a torn-off apron string held triumphantly in her hands. With a sideways grin at Raistlin, she tilted her head and, in a few quick moves, tied her hair back in a neat bun at the back of her head, the pink apron string knotted in a tidy bow at the top.  
  
"Now then," she said cheerfully, pushing up the wispy sleeves of her dress, "I think I know what you're doing wrong."  
  
"I know!" Raistlin agreed impatiently. "I tried to tell him how to hold the knife three times already!" Caramon bowed his head, massaging his sore fingers. "He simply won't listen, and-" The girl shook her head, cutting Raistlin off. Her blue eyes twinkled merrily.  
  
"No, Raistlin," she said, "you're the one doing it wrong." Raistlin stared at her, dumbfounded, as she stepped lightly over to Caramon and turned him back towards the onion. She took the knife from his right hand and replaced it in his left. She moved his hands into position and then started him moving. The onion fell in neat, straight slices.  
  
"You can't blame your brother for everything that goes wrong, Raistlin," the girl said with a knowing smile.  
  
"Raist, look at me! I'm chopping, just like you!" Caramon shouted gleefully, his eyes still on the onion as it quickly disappeared under his knife. The girl laughed and patted Caramon on the shoulder. She leaned against the counter next to Raistlin, her arms crossed, watching Raistlin intently. Raistlin stared at her in amazement  
  
"How did you do that?" he demanded. "I'd been trying for half an hour..."  
  
"How old are you, Raistlin?" she asked suddenly. Raistlin blinked.  
  
"I am... We are fourteen this past June," he replied, frowning. "Why do you ask?" The girl's eyes widened.  
  
"You've lived with him for fourteen years and you still don't know that your brother is left handed?" Raistlin stared at her as though she'd sprouted wings. She nodded her head. "Yes, he's left handed. I noticed it yesterday - Caramon came to the door with a sandwich in his left hand. If he's right handed, he would've-"  
  
"-been holding it in his right hand," Raistlin finished. His cheeks coloring in embarrassment, he turned his back to the girl. He should've noticed which hand Caramon favored long before this! With a wave of guilt, he realized he honestly had never paid close enough attention to his brother to note which hand he ate with or swung his wooden sword with. Guilt and anger welled up inside Raistlin, making his pale face burn even more. "I can't believe I never noticed," Raistlin murmured angrily.  
  
He started and cringed away when he felt a cool hand on his shoulder.  
  
"You'd be amazed what you'll notice when you open your eyes," she said gently. He turned back around to face her. A strange expression played across her face - a mixture of sympathy and pain that seemed utterly out of place from this girl who hardly knew him. Before he could ask what she'd meant, she was across the room and nearly through the doorway.  
  
"I'll be back when the stew is ready," she called. She left the kitchen, and from the living room came the sound of the front door opening and closing.  
  
Caramon looked up from his slicing, beaming, onion tears streaming down his cheeks. A pile of neatly chopped carrots, onions, and potatoes lay before the cheerful boy.  
  
"Where's she going, Raist?" Caramon asked curiously.  
  
"Shut up and go skin the rabbit, you dolt," Raistlin said crossly.  
  
"Okay, Raist," Caramon said. He sighed and took the knife and the rabbit outside.  
  
Alone, Raistlin retreated to his bedroom. He perched on his bed and pulled a book - the History of the Towers of High Sorcery, the one he'd borrowed from Master Theobald - but didn't read it. Instead, he sat gazing out the window, his angry eyes fixed on the impassive blue of the warm summer sky. He sat there long after Caramon came back, thinking about this girl with no name and a dress the color of the clouds. Her voice played over and over in his head. "You'd be amazed what you'll notice when you open your eyes..."  
  
She never came back.  
  
  
  
* * *  
  
Caramon had gone looking for her. Raistlin hadn't stopped him, though he somehow knew looking would be useless. She was gone. Raistlin suspected at first that she'd been sent by Theobald to check up on his wayward pupil, to make sure he wasn't disobeying Theobald's strict rules. As the years passed and that summer faded, however, Raistlin began to suspect a grander purpose than Theobald lay behind the girl's sudden arrival and departure. Perhaps a rival mage had sent her - or perhaps even the Conclave, spying on their champion even as a child. Her illness and Raistlin's strange nightmare the same night, combined with her parting words, left a lingering impression on the young boy's mind. Some nights, so many years later, he would lay in his bed in the Tower of Palanthas and he could still sometimes imagine that, from somewhere, the scent of lavender drifted around him. Perhaps it might even have been the gods who sent her, as a reminder that even he, Raistlin, was human after all. Yes, he thought in the silent moments before sleep came, the Gods might very well be to blame...  
  
Or, perhaps not to blame, but rather, to thank, he corrected with a quiet smile. He closed his eyes, a vision of a certain black-haired cleric dancing before his eyes as he fell into sleep. 


	2. The Bloopers

A Dress the Color of the Clouds -- Bloopers  
  
  
  
As Caramon was just shoving the bread into his mouth, there was a knock at the door. He got up, his mouth still full of bread, and pulled open the front door.  
  
"Hi," said the girl.  
  
Caramon choked on his bread. He doubled over, lungs heaving uselessly, his hands grasping at his own throat.  
  
"Hey, you idiot, that's not in the script!" Raistlin called from off- camera. The girl jumped around behind Caramon and performed the Heimlich maneuver. A piece of half-chewed bread flew across the room. Caramon coughed a few times and blushed sheepishly.  
  
* * *  
  
"Would you like to come with me for a walk by the lake, m'lady?" Caramon asked, giving the girl – who he guessed to be his own age or just a bit younger – a charming smile.  
  
She blushed and giggled prettily. "Gee, Caramon, I'd love to! Pick me up at eight?"  
  
"CUT!!" Raistlin yelled quickly.  
  
* * *  
  
"It isn't fair!" Raistlin growled, leaning his back against the railing of the little back porch. He pounded his fist on his leg, and at that same moment, the porch railing gave a tremendous CRACK and broke. Raistlin tumbled off backwards. "Aaahhhhhhhhhhhh—"  
  
THUD.  
  
* * *  
  
"You..." he gasped, staring at her, laughing until tears formed at the corners of his eyes. "You... a magic-user...!" He was forced to grab at the rail to keep from tumbling over it in his merriment. Unfortunately, the action didn't do him much good – the rail emitted a loud cracking sound. Raistlin groaned. "Not again…" he muttered as the handrail gave way and he went flying off the porch again.  
  
* * *  
  
In desperation, he took a deep breath, squeezed shut his eyes, and kissed her.  
  
The girl's eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the porch floor in a dead faint.  
  
Raistlin sighed. "It's so hard to find good costars these days…"  
  
* * *  
  
Caramon sat down on his bed with a THUMP, shaking the whole house. He pounded his fists on his knees so hard the muscles knotted. "Raist isn't supposed to like girls!"  
  
"Would you rather I like boys, Caramon...?"  
  
Caramon shrugged. "Well, last week I DID catch you backstage with Sturm last week, and I just thought—"  
  
Raistlin blushed crimson red. "CUT!!"  
  
* * *  
  
"Hey, Raist...?" he asked, a shadow falling across his normally cheerful, handsome face. Raistlin regarded his twin intently.  
  
"Yes, my brother?"  
  
"…I just forgot my line."  
  
* * *  
  
"You are absolutely correct, Caramon!" Raistlin said softly, his tone bitter and sarcastic. "You're the perfect hero to save the 'damsel in distress.' After all," he continued, his eyes flickering, "What army of goblins could ever hope to stand against the might of a teenaged boy boldly brandishing his wooden sword?"  
  
Caramon stared at his brother, his eyes slowly filling up with tears. "I can't help it! You never did understand me, Raist!!" he cried, running off stage, sobbing miserably.  
  
"Cut," Raistlin sighed.  
  
* * *  
  
"Pick it up like this." Raistlin pantomimed in the air with his right hand.  
  
Caramon imitated his brother, gently taking the knife in his own right hand. "Like this?" he asked.  
  
Raistlin nodded. "Very good, Caramon. Now, hold down the vegetables—no, not like that, you dolt!! Like this—Caramon, watch where you swing that knife! No, don't do that! Caramon, don't – AAAAAARRRGH!!!  
  
"Um… Cut," Caramon said sheepishly.  
  
* * *  
  
"Shut up and go skin the rabbit, you dolt," Raistlin said crossly.  
  
"Okay, Raist," Caramon said. He sighed and took the knife and the rabbit out on the back porch to skin. A moment later, a loud CRACK sounded from the direction Caramon had vanished. "AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH--thud."  
  
"Cut," Raistlin said with a smirk.  
  
(end bloopers) 


End file.
